


Seven Days of Bri

by flydale_north, Hoppskibjack



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Brian May is a Good Boy, Cock Cages, Cold Showers, Dom/sub Play, Embarrassment, Implied Relationships, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Exchange, Praise Kink, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Scrabble, Sorry Not Sorry, Sub Brian May, The Key, Tour Bus, Whole Lot of Sex, it's a trope, slave for a week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-01-04 12:04:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18343328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flydale_north/pseuds/flydale_north, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoppskibjack/pseuds/Hoppskibjack
Summary: One bet and one lost game of scrabble later, Brian May suddenly finds himself agreeing to be Roger Taylor's slave for the week.





	1. The Bet

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very over done trope, but it's one of my favourites and I haven't seen it for the Queen fandom. This fic is set during one of the earlier Queen tours with the "action" happening on tour buses and in hotel rooms. Not every chapter will be explicit, but I'd rather rate high than low. I'll not any crazy kinks/play in the notes as the tags will change.

Scrabble. He lost to Roger by over fifty points in Scrabble. Brian set his head in his hands, fingers coiling into the hair that fell forward. “How?” he said, not looking up. “How did you win by 50 bloody points?”

“I’m an intelligent boy,” Roger replied, with just the slightest hint of hurt. “I think even I can win a game now and then, and you left that triple word wide open. You’re just upset I won this game and the bet.”

Of course. The bet. Brian groaned in realization, his head still in his hands. “You weren’t serious about all that, were you? I mean, come on, Roger, a bet to have a slave for a week? Isn’t that a bit… childish?” He glanced up sharply on the last word, schooling his features into something that he hoped was a bit less optimistic and more slightly annoyed.

“I was serious,” Roger said placing a hand on his chest in mock pain. “I understand, Bri. You don’t think you can handle it.”

“What?” Brian looked up, straightening, and narrowed his eyes. Roger was definitely baiting him now, and Brian knew he was taking it. He wasn’t stupid. But really, Roger suggesting he couldn’t take it? Was he kidding? Had winning one little Scrabble game completely gone to his head? “Can’t handle it? Can’t handle what? Your ego for a week?” He gave a little breathless laugh to show just how ridiculous he thought the whole thing was.

Roger smiled, seemingly unaffected -- Brian knew better -- and gave a little shrug. “It just seems like you don’t want to hold up your end of the bargain. I guess that’s fine. You should know, though, that if I had lost, you’d expect me to be a good sport about it. And I would have been.” 

Brian sighed, any trace of anger dissolving and trickling out of his veins. As quick as he could be to anger, he was just as quick to realize that he was being an idiot to his best friend and partner. Roger was right; he was acting like a child. “I’m not saying I won’t do it, necessarily,” he said carefully, trying to double back, making sure to keep his voice calm. “I’m just saying it’s rather childish, and we have the tour starting tonight. This could get us all distracted.”

“Now, now. Don’t lump us into this, darling,” Freddie said coolly from his seat across the bus. He sat across from Deacy, the previously abandoned Scrabble board now set up between them, after having been grabbed from the other two while they had been bickering. A few tiles were carefully placed on it. “We didn’t agree to Roger’s little sex games idea.” 

“Thanks for that, Fred.” Brian could see he wasn’t going to receive any sympathy from the singer or from the bassist, and he sighed for what seemed like the millionth time.

“That’s not to say we don’t look forward to the results,” John added helpfully. Brian had to force a neutral expression onto his face rather than glare at John. He looked back at Roger, who was leaning back and tapping something on the side of the table. Brian had never seen him so patient. He was conflicted. For one, he would never hear the end of it. He had agreed to the idea before he’d lost, though. Who was he kidding? 

“Okay, Rog, you win. I’ll play your game for a week.”

The smile that spread across Roger’s face was dazzling. “We can start now, then, and we’ll finish before we have to play too many shows.”

“Okay, I guess,” Brian mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

“Then can you grab me a coffee, please?”

It surprised Brian how quickly the urge to tell Roger to go fuck himself was suddenly right there on the tip of his tongue. Somehow he didn’t. Instead Brian rose from his seat, ignoring John and Freddie’s dual grins, and walked the three steps to the coffee pot. He poured Roger a cup. He could feel his cheeks getting warm and shoved the feeling down. After adding milk and sugar, Brian returned to his seat, setting the cup down in front of the drummer, a bit harder than was necessary. The force caused the liquid to slosh a little over the edges. 

Roger looked down at the cup and then back up at Brian, and gave his head a little shake. He tsked. “Please be more careful next time. I don’t want to have to start punishments five minutes in.”

“Punishments?” Brian asked, his eyebrows going up. “What the hell, Roger?!” Even when Brian said the word it made his skull itch, even if other parts of his body were being very inconsiderate and were clearly confused. “We are on tour, you know; we do have to play every night.” Brian might have been the “calm and quiet one”, but this was too far.

“Calm down, Brian.” Roger spoke like he was trying to calm down a petulant child, and took a sip of coffee before continuing. “There have to be punishments and rewards; that’s part of the deal. Of course we’re touring, but nothing is going to keep you from your Old Lady, I promise. Maybe you’ll even play better after what I have in mind.” 

_Not bloody likely, Roger Meddows Taylor,_ Brian thought, bitterly, but kept his mouth shut.

Roger continued without a pause, “We should go over the rules again -- ”

Now Brian cut in, looking at John and Freddie pointedly, and then back to Roger. “We can do that later, in private, Rog.” Brian was aware of the blush of embarrassment on his cheeks, the fact that Roger had clocked it, and that the other Scrabble game had ceased for the time being. He expected popcorn to appear with how interested the other two men were, watching them like they were in a film.

“You didn’t listen when we discussed this in private the first time, apparently,” Roger said, and Brian saw the briefest flash of irritation which seemed to disappear almost immediately. Roger’s voice was calm and steady. “Maybe if we go over this as a band, you’ll remember this time, and you won’t think about trying to cheat your way out of it.” He held his hand up to cut off Brian’s retort. “You only have to listen to me, unless I ask Freddie or John to tell you something. They don’t get to decide what you do, and they don’t get to punish you.” Roger turned to look at John and Freddie, “Okay, guys?”

Freddie piped up almost immediately. “Yes, of course darling. He’s your play thing, we know. We’ll behave.”

“Tough, but fair,” Deacy added with a sigh. “Let me know if you need any punishment ideas, though. Or an audience.” Freddie tapped the bassist’s arm and shook his finger at him before they went back to their game. Brian sulked on the other side of the table from Roger.

Roger wasn’t heartless. Brian knew that, so he shifted his expression a little when Roger reached over and kindly pushed a piece of hair out of his eyes. “It’s pretty simple, Brian. You just have to listen to me. If I ask you to do something, don’t think about it, just do it. It’s not rocket science.”

Brian lifted his eyes and hoped Roger could appreciate the stare he gave him. He did, so far as Brian could see, but it didn’t seem to faze him.

“Cheer up, Bri.” He brushed his hand gently down the side of Brian’s face. “I’m going to take care of you. I have lots for you to do and rewards for when you do it. You might even have fun. And if you don’t, it’s only a week. You trust me, yeah?” 

That was hard part: He did trust Roger, and he was worried that the trust would be damaged. “Yes, you idiot. I trust you.” Brian gave a quick smile that Roger returned more brightly.

“There was your freebie. Now, you can’t call me any mean things for a week.”


	2. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 of the Bet - Brian tries to wrap his mind around this whole situation he's gotten himself into. Roger tries to wrap his mind around Brian's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter will be one day, so be prepared for some longish chapters. Nothing too kink heavy in this one, although there is some cuteness.

Brian woke slowly and stretched. He only had a few moments of quiet contemplation before the events of the previous night rushed back into his head. He groaned at the memory of the bet and the lost Scrabble game. Hooray, he was Roger’s slave for a week, he thought with an internal groan. Roger stirred next to him, tossing and turning until he was lying on his side facing his bandmate. They had shared a bed before, and Roger and Brian often ended up in each other’s rooms, but this was the first time that Roger had asked specifically for just one room to share with him. He hadn’t exactly been disuaded by John and Freddie, who instead took glee in telling the desk clerk that Brian had lost a bet. She had been kind and professional, even taking the time to flirt with Roger while Brian was forced to stand there without a room key and wait for him. It wasn’t until Roger reached forward and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear that Brian grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the room to sleep, ignoring his protests.

“Morning,” the still-sleepy blond said, drawing Brian’s attention away from self-pity and back to reality. He wore a contented smile, and his hair was messed up, trickling like pools of water over the white pillow and sticking up here and there. Brian couldn’t help but be drawn to his blue eyes, which were still slightly dazed and not quite awake. Bet or no bet, Brian couldn’t deny that Roger always looked attractive, even after just waking up. The guitarist shuffled a little closer, pressing his lips to Roger’s in a wordless response to his greeting, feeling the other man respond in kind with a contented hum. 

It was only a matter of time before the kissing turned into roaming hands. Roger’s hands smoothed down Brian’s sides, taking the briefest of seconds to trace the smooth skin under the waistband of Brian’s boxers before continuing on. Brian pulled Roger closer by the hips, feeling the other man pressing against him, bulge against bulge. Brian couldn’t help but cant his hips to grind against him, feeling a shiver as Roger hummed and pressed back. Brian was swept up in the sensations, the warmth of his lips and the body-heated sheets wrapping them up.

Roger’s hand dipped below Brian’s waistband, his blue eyes now focused on Brian’s as fingertips sought out his cock, skimming over the heated flesh. Brian let his eyes close, tipping his head back as calloused fingers closed around his dick. 

“Open your eyes, Bri.” 

Brian slowly opened them at Roger’s request, meeting Roger’s gaze and making a conscious effort to keep breathing. The grip around the shaft of his penis was snug, but it was the agonizingly slow movement that made Brian’s eyes widen slightly. 

“How does that feel?” Roger asked, his movement never quickening, and his other hand batting away Brian’s as he tried to help. “Too slow?”

“Way too slow – fuck – but it feels really good, Roger... Just, just please, go faster.” 

“Nah, I think I’ll keep doing this.” The smirk was back on Roger’s face, and he continued the movement, occasionally bringing his palm up to spit on it. 

“Please, Rog, just a little bit faster. Not much, just a tiny bit.” It was just on the edge of hurting, maddeningly slow and just a bit too much pressure to be in the sweet spot. He could almost feel what could have been, and he wasn’t above asking Roger to reconsider and maybe speed up just a tad. His cock was enjoying it at least, staying hard even as Roger dragged his palm up and down. 

“Since you asked so nicely,” Roger cooed, and he sped up slightly just as Brian had asked, just enough for Brian to get a little taste of what it could feel like. Just enough for that pressure to start to build, and his balls to tighten up in anticipation. Brian moaned under his breath, pressing his lips against Roger, who returned the kiss happily. “Does that feel good?” he asked again.

“Yes, it does. Feels fucking wonderful.” Brian let his eyes close again; this time a finger tapped his forehead to coax them open. 

“What about if I do this?” Roger’s hand loosened its grip a little, bringing Brian back to that sweet spot that Roger had found so early on, and now after years seemed to know so well; the spot that could make him come in no time. Brian could only moan in response, the jolt of pleasure quickly racing through his body. “Tell me before you come,” the blond added softly, his warm breath on Brian’s ear as Brian felt wave after wave of pleasure build in him. “Can you do that for me?”

Brian nodded quickly. This was apparently not good enough for Roger, as his question was repeated. 

“Yes,” Brian answered, now starting to become overwhelmed by the sensations. He wasn’t far off, and each glide of the drummer’s hand, accompanied by a twist at the head, drove him ever closer to the edge. So perhaps it wasn’t that surprising that Brian rambled a little, or that the words just slipped out without any real conscious thought or effort. “Ah, yes, sir.”

“Good boy,” Roger whispered in Brian’s ear. He kept his voice low, rasping out the words and pausing to press gentle kisses and licks to the shell of his ear. “Don’t come yet, Bri…”

Brian whined; he was so close, he was on a hair trigger. Roger’s other hand was caressing the inside of his thigh, the contrast of rough and smooth palms worked its way under his skin, and he realized it was now or never. “I’m gonna come…” he said, eyes shut tight, his breath coming in barely controlled pants. 

Then Roger stopped and removed all the contact he had with Brian’s flesh. 

Brian’s heart pounded in his chest. There was only one thought in his brain: The band would have to find a new drummer before tonight’s show, because he was going to kill him. 

“What the hell, Roger?! You goddamn... cock tease! You just – ” he coughed to conceal the break in his voice as his dick throbbed. “You just stopped!”

Roger blinked, pushing back the covers and standing on the opposite side of the bed. “This is the week where you’re my slave. I didn’t come either, Bri. It’ll be better later.” 

“That’s not the point!” Brian said, his voice rising before he clamped down and attempted to speak in a normal tone. “I’m happy to fix that for you, and you know it.”

“That’s okay, we have to meet John and Freddie for breakfast. I’ll grab a shower first. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of cold water to cool you down.”

“Fuck you,” Brian said quietly, very little venom behind his words. 

“And we’ll talk about punishment later. Remind me before the show tonight.” Roger had shucked his briefs, a towel in one hand as he moved towards the bathroom. His tone was light and he didn’t seem to be affected at all. Under different circumstances Brian would have taken more time to appreciate the sight before him, the tanned and smooth flesh that was just the right amount of toned. Instead he felt his voice rising again. 

“What? Listen, I should be punishing _you_ , Rog. That was torture!”

Roger turned on his heel, narrowing his eyes and then growling as he threw his towel over his shoulder. The first actual show of irritation… But no, Brian thought. That was disappointment. 

“You’ve punished me already. You’re acting like a child. You go and do the thing I said not to: Don’t call me mean things for the week. Should I write this down for you, Brian? ‘A goddamn cocktease’; I don’t think so. You don’t follow the rules, you get punished. You do what you’re told, and you get rewarded.” He shrugged. “If you don’t want to continue the bet, just say. Go ahead, tell me. Otherwise, you will remind me that you need to be punished later, and I might go easier on you.”

Without waiting for Brian’s rebuttal, he walked into the bathroom and shut the door. Brian sat back down on the bed, feeling chastised. He exhaled as he listened to the shower run. His erection was already flagging, thanks to the disagreement with Roger, even if he still felt the need to come. 

Perhaps he was overreacting. He scrubbed his hands down his face. If he took a good look at how he had acted this morning, he could see where he might have looked a prat, and he was also beginning to feel that way. Was this the way the week was going to go? He couldn’t stand to be this emotional all week while they were playing shows every night. He just wasn’t sure his ego would let him just _let go_ to Roger. He growled out of frustration. 

The shower stopped and a few minutes later Roger emerged, hair damp, and a damp towel wrapped around his waist. 

“Rog, I – ” Brian began as he tried to formulate something like an apology (something he was never any good at), but Roger shook his head, silencing him. 

“Me too.”

“I’ll go get a shower then,” Brian said. Immediately he wondered why he had said it: whether he was trying to ask permission, or just commenting in case Roger needed to go back in the bathroom.

“Okay. There’s no hot water left, so it’s a cold shower today. Hopefully it’s back tomorrow.” 

Hotels didn’t usually run out of hot water, Brian knew that, but the look on Roger’s face and the previous events said it loud and clear: he had a chance to fix some of this. He let half of a smile slip onto his face and then ducked into the bathroom.

“Don’t jerk off in there!” Roger called after him, and Brian briefly wondered what would happen if he did. Roger wouldn’t know that he did, and if he lied about it convincingly he never would have to know. Would that be worth it? No, he told himself, it wasn’t worth it. Taking it as a challenge to just listen to Roger for this one thing, he called back that he wouldn’t and turned on the cold tap. When he stepped under the cold stream, being quick and not getting his hair wet were all he could think about, and any thoughts of jerking off were suddenly further down his list of priorities.

\------------

“So how is the bet going?” John asked, his eyes shifting from Rog to Brian and back again.

Roger took a drink of his tea and looked sideways at Brian, disturbing his chewing. Brian swallowed and shrugged, loading his fork with more beans. “Fine. it’s just a bet, John. Pretty boring, really. Why, are you jealous?”

“Yes, good question: Are you jealous, Deacy?” Freddie chorused, stealing a piece of toast from John’s plate. 

The bassist pulled his plate closer and rolled his eyes. “I just heard a fight this morning. I’m checking to make sure you’re not killing each other.”

“You’re very considerate, John, but we’re fine,” Brian added with barely a pause. He placed a piece of his toast onto John’s plate to replace the one that Freddie took, as a goodwill offering. “Adjustment period.” 

John seemed to brighten a bit and shrugged as though the whole thing was indeed, boring. If he was trying to start something, it was quickly forgotten in favour of breakfast. Brian glanced at Roger for what felt like the hundredth time, watching him scraping the last morsels of food from his plate onto his fork. Brian’s attention went back to the last dregs of tea in the mug in his hands. It was now past drinkable temperature and he silently cursed the second law of thermodynamics. While he wasn’t shivering anymore, the exposed skin on his arms had visible goosebumps, and occasionally he caught Roger looking at them, and then to Brian’s face. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that he was enjoying the sight of something he caused. The guitarist drained his mug and tried not to wince at the taste. 

Without a word Roger poured more tea into Brian’s cup, pushing over the small pitcher of milk and the sugar bowl. As he moved the teapot back, he let his hand skim over the warming flesh of Brian’s arm, making Brian shiver. 

Freddie cleared his throat, then pushed his chair out and stood. “Well then. We’ll meet you two lovebirds later later, don’t be late.” Freddie tapped John’s arm, and when he stood, the singer wrapped an arm around John’s shoulders, guiding him out of the room.

With John and Freddie gone, there was a pause. The cafe they were sitting in was relatively quiet, and as it was a small town, so far no one had noticed them. “You okay?” Roger asked, he looked into his tea rather than at Brian. That was the first time he let whatever mask he was wearing slip. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, Rog. Cold, and I feel like a bit of a prat, but fine.” 

“Good.” 

Brian plucked up the courage to bring it up, even as his brain was screaming to not mention anything about the punishment Roger had suggested earlier. “That cold shower thing, that wasn’t the punishment you had planned, by any chance?” Roger’s blue eyes were now looking back at him and his face had a full smile on it. 

“Nope. Thank you for reminding me about the punishment, though; I didn’t think you would. We’ll deal with it before the show.” He patted Brian’s arm, that warm smile staying on his face. 

“No hints?” Now that he had broached the subject it seemed more approachable. 

“If I tell you now, Bri, I’m going to have to make it worse. Would you rather that?”

“Is this a trick?” Brian asked, feeling as though they were playing twenty questions, and doing his best not to make a face. “Am I supposed to say, ‘Whatever you want, Oh, Great and Powerful Roger’”?

“If you want,” Roger said, grinning. “‘Sir’ works too, since you offered that one up this morning.” 

Brian turned red. 

“It’s okay, Bri. I won’t ask you to call me that. Unless you want to.”

Brian just gulped down some tea.

\-------------

The day seemed to drag for Brian with the ever present thought of what Roger might have in mind for punishment looming like a thundercloud in the distance. That thought and his lack of orgasm from this morning was putting him slightly on edge. Time apart earlier had gone all right, but it wasn’t the same. Now at the venue, he’d already told one of the techs off, and he had glared at Ratty with enough fury that the man had just set John’s bass back on its stand and quietly left the room. 

“Roger, did you break our guitarist already? If you can’t play nicely with him, you shan’t play at all.” Freddie’s eyes were on Brian while he spoke to Roger. 

“It’s only been a day,” Roger said, twirling his sticks. “He is allowed bad days and time to adjust.”

“Far too generous!” Freddie exclaimed with a gesture of his hand. He reached over and took a drink of water. “Ratty, get in here. I promise you the curly haired man will not hurt you!”

Brian scoffed. “I’m right here in the room, you know!” He wasn’t being that unreasonable. He was just tense. Of course, it was then that a poorly-tightened string, new out of the package a moment ago, snapped. “Dammit!” When Red Special was safely in his guitar tech’s arms (the only other person he trusted her with), Brian pointed at Roger and then gestured to the door, leaving the room with Roger following a moment later. 

They were only a few steps down the hall outside the rehearsal room when Roger caught up to Brian’s longer legs. “Hey! Bri, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

Brian stopped, his back and shoulders full of tension and irritation radiating off him before he turned towards the sound of Roger’s voice. He would just have to get it over with; he couldn’t think about anything else, and it wasn’t fair to the people paying to see all of Queen. He took a few steps towards the drummer, giving himself a few seconds to calm down a little now that he didn’t have to worry about his guitar and his other bandmates. “This punishment thing is doing in my head in, Rog. Whatever you have in mind, it can’t be worse than not knowing. Just do it now, and get it over with before the show.” 

Roger tipped his head just a little and Brian waited impatiently. “You want to know what the punishment is?” Brian nodded emphatically, curls bouncing a little at the movement. Roger gave a little shrug. “Okay, well… This is it.” 

“What? Rehearsal? The show tonight?” He raised an eyebrow as he felt the lump in his throat tighten.

“Not knowing what the punishment is, IS the punishment, Bri.” Roger took a step forward to set his hands on Brian’s shoulders. “You always have to know everything, and not knowing something seemed like a fitting first punishment.” 

“This… this is the punishment?” Brian asked, his voice unbelieving. More of the irritation ran off from his posture, his shoulders drooping as though Roger’s hands on them were heavy. “I basically punished myself, then?” 

Roger nodded, and Brian closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath. He had worried for nothing, which was exactly what Roger had wanted him to do. He had, once again, done exactly what Roger had asked him to do. He couldn’t quite understand the relief he felt just now. If he could focus that strongly on such a pointless thing, then what could happen if it wasn’t so pointless? Brian felt lighter with relief, his attention now focused on the warmth of Roger’s palms on his shoulders. He let his head drop, whether out of humility or just relief he didn’t know, but it felt good doing it. “You’re rather good at this,” Brian said, opening his eyes and tipping his head back up. 

Meeting his gaze, Roger’s lips twitched as though he wanted to grin. “I’ve done this before.” He smoothed his hands down Brian’s shoulders and then down his arms. “You’re still tense. Want help with that?” 

“Yes,” Brian said, as a hesitant and faint smile formed on his lips. He felt his heart quicken and his pants tighten. “Since this morning. Do we have time?” 

Roger checked his watch and his full smile quickly followed. “If you’re good – and quick.” 

The pause in his speech wasn’t lost on Brian, and a blush crept over his cheeks. He could be good. He wasn’t about to say that, not at this point, but he could be good and show that he was good. He followed Roger as he went further down the hallway, finally opening a door to an empty dressing room. That need from this morning, thwarted by denial and then the cold shower, had reached a boiling point now that the threat of punishment was gone. Before Roger could say anything, Brian kissed him, pushing him inside and shutting the door behind them. 

Brian was frantic, kisses bruising as he backed Roger up to a wall. Roger’s tongue pushed in, seeking entry into Brian’s mouth. He didn’t need words. Brian’s actions were the answers to today’s misunderstandings and an apology to Roger as Brian hummed. Everything was quick-hot-right-now as he pulled Roger against him, fingers pressed into his hips. He went to Roger’s trousers, opening up the zips and clasps, then tugging them and the briefs down in one movement. Roger stuttered out a sound of surprise. Ignoring the gasp from Roger, he dropped to his knees, pausing to look up and appreciate the wide eyed expression on his face. 

“So you _can_ be good,” Roger said, perhaps in wonder, maybe even pride. He said it so softly Brian almost didn’t hear it. When it finally registered, he smiled, keeping eye contact and then swallowing Roger down. 

Roger cursed, and Brian couldn’t help but feel rather proud of himself. He took as much into his mouth as he could, trying to relax as the cock head hit the roof of his mouth. He set a quick rhythm, using the tip of his tongue to trace as he sucked, his hands set on Roger’s hips to steady himself on his knees. Roger’s hands were in his hair, his fingernails cutting little pinpoints of pain on his scalp amongst the curls. 

“So, so good,” Roger was saying above him, a litany of praise among gasps and moans. “It’s been a hard day – ” he paused as Brian sped up, gently pulling on his balls. “Fuck, Brian.”

Roger’s fingers twisted in his hair and the guitarist’s breathing hitched for a moment. His own dick was demanding attention and he had to ignore it, as he could feel Roger getting close, his breathing changing and his gasps getting faster. 

“Can you... get your dick out?” Roger asked between sharp pants, his eyes fluttering closed before opening to look down at Brian. 

Brian looked up, slightly confused, his head stilling as the taste of precome coated the inside of his mouth. After a moment’s consideration, multi-tasking as best he could, Brian managed to free his own erection, wrapping a hand around the shaft and beginning to stroke as he continued to lick and suck. 

“I’m close.” Roger’s voice was thick as his hips bucked forward into Brian’s mouth, occasionally making him gag. Wrapping his hands in Brian’s hair, he pulled him off, smiling at the confused look on Brian’s face. He closed his hand around his own shaft, stroking and twisting very slowly. “You want to come, Bri?” 

Brian nodded, not trusting his voice, his hand still stroking and feeling the pressure begin to build. All he could think about at this moment was how he didn’t want to stop. 

“Then you better come before I do.” 

Roger’s tone was one that Brian had only heard a few times before; it sent a shiver up his spine and once again formed goosebumps on his arms. For a man who was so often joking, he was deadly serious. He quickened his pace, using the little tricks that got him off quickly: holding himself a little tighter, and twisting roughly at the end. He sat back on his heels, his gaze nearly parallel with the sight of Roger jerking himself off. 

Between that sight, the taste of precome still in his mouth and the sound of their panting filling the room, it wasn’t long before Brian was right at the edge, the need and the pleasure mixing into something that was taking him someplace far away. Yet he held it back. There was just one thing left. “Please can I come?” He didn’t know why he said it, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it back. 

He saw Roger pause. Whether or not he heard it was a different story; the drummer always had little issues with his hearing. The blush on Brian's cheeks and neck had come before he had even said it, the very thought of it making him embarrassed before he had actually spoken the words. These were words that Roger had never demanded, not here and not ever. Yet he wanted to ask regardless; he needed to ask. The weight of their urgency was palpable, his hand still sliding up and down his dick. "Please can I come, sir?"

“Yes, good boy!”

Brian came over his hand, the orgasm tipped over the edge by the enthusiastic permission and praise. Pleasure and relief soaking into every pore of his skin. Roger came only a moment after, his come managing to avoid Brian’s hair despite being so close to it to, dressing the floor in white ropey lines next to his leg. Both of them stood silent except for the sounds of ragged breathing as they caught their breath. Roger leaned back against the wall. The silence was nice, Brian thought. Companionable, not awkward like it could have been. 

“Aren’t you glad I made you wait?” Roger asked finally, glancing down at Brian and offering a hand to help him up. 

Brian took it and got to his feet, scratching the back of his head once he stood. “If I say yes, will you never do it again?” 

Roger wrapped an arm around his back, subtly wiping the sleeve of his shirt on Brian then dancing back a step when Brian went to swat him for it. “We are definitely doing that again. The sounds you make are amazing.” 

Brian rolled his eyes, but the blush on his cheeks from before was renewed. He tried to change the topic to anything else. “We should get back to John and Freddie before they come looking for us.” 

“Yeah, I’m knackered.” 

Brian laughed, holding open the door for Roger. “Glad we don’t have a show to do, then.”

“What do you care? You just stand there with your guitar looking hot. Some of us actually work.” Roger said back, cheekily a blush coating his cheeks for a moment. “Oh, and Bri? Do you know what cock cages are?”

“I can surmise what they might be given the words... Why?” 

“No reason!” Having only a moment ago complained of being tired, the drummer took off down the hall back to the rehearsal space, leaving Brian slightly worried and very interested.


	3. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was supposed to just be a Brian and Roger thing, until it wasn't. From John's point of view.

“John? Be a darling and hand me that notebook.” 

“Sure, Freddie.” John tossed the notebook over to where Freddie sat in a hotel armchair, a pen tapping against his lips. “I’m going to go get breakfast. Did you want to come along?” he asked, pulling on a thin coat as he grabbed his wallet and keys. 

“What? Oh, no, thank you, Deacy, but this song is demanding my attention. I’m a slave to the music, after all.”

The bassist nodded, his stomach doing a very small flip at Freddie’s choice of words. He checked again that he had his wallet and keys in his pockets, hesitating for a moment in case Freddie changed his mind. “I’ll bring you something back. Don’t work too hard.”

Freddie made a little noise to show he heard him. “Oh, and Deacy, dear?” 

John paused with his hand on the door handle. 

“If you see Roger, please tell him that rehearsal is pushed back. Since that bet of his, those two spend more time in bed than I do.”

John nodded. He left Freddie to his writing and shut the room door behind him. He didn’t immediately set out, instead exhaling as he leaned heavily against the wall next to the door. He wasn’t really hungry, but he needed to get out of the hotel room, if only to be somewhere that he couldn’t hear Roger and Brian. 

Last night, Freddie had wandered drunkenly into John’s room, collapsing in the bed and gradually forcing John onto the floor with his tossing and turning. Anyone else and John would have woken up them and demanded they leave, but he had a soft spot in his heart for Queen’s frontman. So he had ended up on the sofa, which sat against the common wall between his room and Brian and Roger’s. Which meant their nocturnal activities were in John’s ear all night. The few moments of sleep he got were tainted by their groans and moans.

He knew that he needed caffeine if he was to function today, something to wake him up and shoo away the memory of noises and whispers he heard all night (and their implications). So naturally, when he arrived at the only coffee shop in the hotel, it was pure Deacon luck that their blond drummer was already in line waiting to buy coffee. John quickly glanced around and was relieved to see that Brian didn’t seem to be accompanying him. John retrieved his order then sidled up next to Roger. “Long night, Mr. Taylor?”

Roger jumped, narrowing his eyes behind his sunglasses before realizing it was only John standing next to him. His expression softened and he shrugged. “Busy night.” He smiled and tipped his sunglasses down. 

“I didn’t realize Brian’s voice could go that high.” 

“Neither did I,” Roger quipped. 

Both men chuckled, even if John’s was slightly forced. Roger pointed to a table near them, shrugging an invitation to the bassist. The table was one of only four in the small cafe, all with small chairs and clean red tabletops. John took a seat across from him, blowing on his coffee while he watched Roger collect his thoughts. 

“So, today is day two for Brian,” Roger said, shifting in his seat after he broke the silence. 

“Mhm,” John mumbled around his coffee cup.

“I was wondering if I can take you up on your offer to be an audience.” 

John’s face twisted in confusion before he realized that, oh yes, he had offered to do that, hadn’t he? He took a small sip of his coffee instead. “What kind of an audience?”

“Well, it’s less an audience and more of… a keyholder.” Roger paused, and when John didn’t react or ask any additional questions, continued. “I need someone -- someone who isn’t me -- to hang onto the key to a cock cage I’m making Brian wear.”

John blinked. 

“Before I say yes,” he deadpanned, rubbing his forehead, “can I just mention that other bands don’t have these problems? They have problems with girls and drink and drugs.” 

“Other bands aren’t Queen,” Roger said with a wink. He took the moment of silence as an opportunity to take a long drink of his coffee. 

John smiled his small, tight smile even as his stomach twitched at the idea, pushing back all the sounds he heard last night. “So you just need me to keep the key? That’s it?”

Roger nodded. “That’s it. I mean, if you want to do more, you can.” Here Roger’s voice dropped a little, even if there weren’t any other patrons in the cafe at the moment. “Brian isn’t allowed to come with the cage on. Actually, he can’t physically come with the cage on; that’s the point. But he’s allowed to ask the person holding the key to let him take it off so that he _can_ come.”

“And it would be too easy to ask you?” John asked, already wondering what it might look like to have Brian come to ask him for the key. He could ask him to beg. “It needs to be someone else?” 

“Exactly. I want to humiliate him a little. Nicely. Freddie might take it too far, and the crew isn’t quite right for the job either.”

“And I’m _just_ right?” John was smiling a little broader, buoyed by the caffeine and the mental images his brain was tacking together on the inside of his skull. Then a thought occurred to him that made his smile disappear. “Brian doesn’t have a problem with it being me?” 

“He suggested you. Maybe he thinks you’ll be a pushover. He just doesn’t know that I told you what the key is for. It won’t be for that long; after last night if he waits too much longer he’ll be offering up his guitars just to get off.” Roger stood, digging his hand into his trouser pocket and producing a silver key on a thin chain. “You don’t have to give it to him, by the way, Deacy. I know you’d love to make him beg.” 

At this John offered a modest shrug. “I have no idea what you mean, Roger.”

The drummer laughed. “I know about your kinks, Deacy; don’t play innocent with me. Is that a yes, then?”

John nodded, his smile almost hidden behind his coffee. 

“Feel free to use it however you see fit.” Roger pressed the key into John’s hand, and without another word, left the table. Presumably, to buy a coffee for the poor suffering guitarist that was waiting back in their room. 

Long after Roger set back to his room with Brian’s coffee, John sat staring at the key in his palm for long minutes, before finally tucking it into his pocket.

—-

“You’re speeding up!” Brian said, turning back toward Roger with his eyebrows furrowed. 

The drums faltered and stopped with a crash of the cymbals. “You’re kidding me! I was solid.”

“Don’t be stupid, Roger --”

“You may have been a touch quick, Roger, dear. We’ll take it again from the top!” Freddie declared, and with a grumble, Roger and Brian started again. John said nothing, mainly because no one asked him, and also because he would have had to side with Brian. Freddie was being diplomatic, and everyone in the room knew it. He kept quiet even as the small key seemed to weigh a tonne in his pocket. 

The song ended and Brian huffed as he put his guitar down in a way that declared, “I’m pissed off, and I want you to know that, but I don’t want to be a bother and just say it”. The sound was all too familiar to the bassist and John found himself turning away to roll his eyes.

“I need a minute.” 

“Brian, don’t be like that…” Roger was saying as he slipped past the kit and John, and followed the taller man out of the rehearsal room. 

John turned to Freddie, who was sipping a glass of something; possibly water but also possibly stronger stuff. “He’s rather tense,” John finally said. Even if he felt something in his gut he wasn’t going to tell Freddie about it. If he was honest with himself, he was just as tense and _hard_ as Brian probably was, but for different reasons. 

“You would be too, Deacy, if you lost a bet with Roger Taylor.”

Well, that was a thought John didn’t need now or ever. His brain felt the need to imagine himself in Brian’s place, and he suppressed a shiver. “I wouldn’t make that bet in the first place.” 

Freddie smiled at this, nudging John’s shoulder and giving him a wink. “No, no, no. Mr. John Richard Deacon would never get involved in such low-brow matters. After all, what if you lost? The scandal. You do seem awfully interested in their gossip, though.” 

John opened his mouth to respond, but closed it when Brian and Roger came back into the room, the drummer leading, and the guitarist following a step or two behind. Brian’s cheeks were flushed, barely visible the way he was ducking his head, his hair slightly messed up and in the way. Roger seemed fine, John thought after a quick glance; not even breathing quickly. Brian’s eyes were fixed on his guitar, avoiding eye contact with John and Freddie as he took his spot. What had happened out there? Even when John made an effort to catch his eye, Brian kept his head and eyes down, worrying his guitar while Roger got situated behind the kit. 

They played through the set twice, pausing only for instrument changes. Pleased with the progress, Freddie called an end to the rehearsal, gesturing broadly and wrapping his arms around Roger. 

“Drinks?” Roger offered.

Three heads nodded with varying levels of excitement as guitars were put on stands and cables tucked away. John was closing the lid on his case when Brian came over to him, clearing his throat as he helped fasten the last buckle.

“Erm... John, do you have a minute?” 

Brian’s quiet voice was like silk being pulled across the hairs on the back of John’s neck, and John had to make an effort to keep his attention focused on the task at hand. “Yeah,” he responded nonchalantly. “What’s going on?” He finally glanced up at Brian, catching Roger and Freddie leaving them behind in the room out of the corner of his eye. Roger was watching them even as he continued to talk to Freddie. John knew that smug look. That bastard.

“John, Roger gave you a key. Can I have it back?” The words were blurted out, with none of the consideration and style that Brian usually had with his words. 

John straightened from where he was crouched over the case, resting his hands on his hips. The key felt as though it was burning a hole in his pocket, but he ignored it, instead feigning surprise at the sudden question. “Oh. Er, sorry, Brian. I don’t have it right now.” 

“Where is it?” 

John physically took a step back at the shock that came over Brian’s face with his question. It was too easy to just _give_ him the key right now. He had to have a little fun with it. He smiled. “In my room -- I didn’t want to lose it. Why? Do you need it right away?” 

The taller man very briefly closed his eyes and exhaled. John had to admit he was impressed with Brian gathering his composure before he shook his head. “No, not yet.” 

“What’s it for, anyway?” John asked. 

Brian seemed surprised and took a moment before he answered. “Roger actually didn’t tell you?” 

John shook his head, catching himself before he shoved his hands into his pockets. “He just said you would ask for it. If it’s something really important and Roger is just being a dick, I can get it for you.” 

Brian sighed, his palpable relief coating the sound. “It’s nothing, really.” He was fiddling with the sixpence piece he used as a plectrum. “More of an annoyance.”

If John didn’t know better, he could swear he saw hints of red on Brian’s cheeks. The thought that this was embarrassing their usually unflappable guitarist wasn’t helping John’s situation. He shifted slightly behind the guitar case he had picked up in order to give the bulge in his pants a little more room. This wasn’t supposed to affect him like this. That was _it_. He was going to trip Roger the next time he saw him and make it look like an accident.

John offered a small smile. “Well, if you don’t need it right now, drinks?” Brian nodded and John realized he was going to need strong ones. 

The four members of Queen spent the next few hours imbibing at the hotel bar. Freddie and Roger had drinks bought for them by a small group of fans who were also staying at the hotel until security eventually waved them away with an apology to the band. Talk turned from the upcoming album, to the tour, and danced around the bet between Brian and Roger. John stayed remarkably quiet throughout, except for a chuckle when he tossed a shelled peanut at Brian and hit him squarely in the forehead. Unlike other nights, Brian didn’t retaliate nor tell the bassist off, and John was suddenly rather thankful to be a keyholder. It gave him a bit of protection from the other man’s sharp tongue. He was able to relax a little.

A handful of drinks later (Roger bought for his weeklong slave, ignoring Brian’s protests about his dislike of the current hard liquor on offer), Brian leaned in, his curls gently brushing John’s skin.

“I think I need to change my mind,” he murmured quietly, “it’s going to kill me if I don’t get that key now.” 

John could see Roger watching, monitoring the two of them, and smiling suddenly when he realized what conversation was taking place. When Roger turned back to Freddie, John quietly -- disinterestedly -- related to Brian that the key was in his hotel room safe and sound. He could, of course, come with him and get it if he needed it that badly. The whole time, the key in his pocket felt as though it was made of lead. 

Maybe it was the alcohol that made them both a little more comfortable with the situation, but without complaint, Brian quietly followed John back to his hotel room to retrieve the key. John shut the door behind Brian, crossing the room to the desk by the window that held papers, scribblings of songs he had been working on, and part of a torn apart amp he was cannibalizing for circuits. He paused, his back to Brian and his hands down on the desk as he pretended to look around for the key. The warmth of the evenings libations made his skin feel flushed, and he knew his usually steady hands were shaking slightly. 

The key, now more than ever, was a constant presence in his pocket. After Freddie had joked over drinks about the trousers Brian was wearing, it was let slip about the chastity cage. With that secret out in the open, John was able to feign sudden understanding as to why Brian might want the key so quickly. John had surmised that it had been the only reason that he was able to sit next to Brian all night, knowing that he held the key to the cage he wore, without cracking. He would have to owe Freddie a lot of drinks for helping him out. 

And as much as he knew Brian needed that release, the thought of not giving him the key was even more potent. He played the scenario out in his mind. Denying Brian the key. Having impeccable, oh so wonderful Brian broken and weeping and wanting. Perfect Brian pleading for him to just show him a little pity. Or maybe, John thought, he would be angry and demanding, but still unable to get what he wanted. That thought almost made his knees buckle. 

He sighed, gathering all the acting skills he could muster, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Brian. I can’t find it.” 

“What?!” Brian exclaimed. “You lost it?” 

“No, not lost. It’s around here somewhere.” John couldn’t help but notice the rising flush on the guitarist’s cheeks and he struggled to conceal his smile.

“You _lost_ the key, John. You can’t find it, so it’s lost. Do I need to remind you that it’s a _cage_?” Brian’s voice scaled up a bit, the alcohol helping colour his speech. Given that Roger had been the one ordering (and paying), Brian was a bit more drunk than he usually would be this time of night. 

John gave a little shrug and breathed out, turning back to move aside a few circuits. “You’re overreacting, Brian. I’m sure I’ll find it. It just might not be until tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?! Deacy, what the fuck?”

Brian started forward and John held up his hand, hoping that the less-snug-than-usual trousers weren’t betraying how deeply invested he was in this little game he was playing. “Calm down, May. One more night isn’t going to kill you. Some people go months without getting off.”

Brian’s next words tumbled out so quickly that John almost didn’t register them. “You have it, don’t you? You probably had it all night, and that’s why you’re not worried. For fuck’s sake, Deacy, show a little compassion.” 

“No, Brian, I’m not worried because Roger has a spare. Locks always come with at least two keys.” 

“Give me the key, Deacy.” Brian took another step forward and John found himself moving forward a step as well, all pretense dropped at the challenge. 

“No.” The bluntness made Brian take a step back, and John let a corner of a smile appear on his face. He pulled out the silver chain and showed Brian the key before putting it back in his pocket. “Unless you want to tell me _exactly_ what you’re going to do after you unlock that cage with it.” Okay, so his clever trick was ruined now, but if he could still manage to embarrass Brian May, his choice was obvious. “Tell me exactly how you’re going to jerk off. It’ll probably be while Roger watches, won’t it? As he tells you exactly how to do it to his liking.” The red that surged into Brian’s cheeks told John that he had succeeded in his goal. “You could at least ask me nicely.”

“Just give me the key, John, please. You did your job.” 

Brian’s tone was politely demanding more than it was pleading, at least from what John could tell. As much as he kept repeating to himself that it was Roger’s bet and that he didn’t control Brian, he still felt that shimmer of power that the key provided. He wanted more. Brian wasn’t going to get the opportunity to come from this situation until he said so. 

“I’m not going to beg, John, if that’s what you’re after. Just give me the key.” 

Did everyone know that he wanted to hear Brian beg? His slightly sober side stepped in and told him, regardless of everything he knew, this was still a game and Brian was only human. Even if he wouldn’t play nice, he could make allowances for that. “Are you in a lot of pain?” John asked, thinking that he could show a bit of mercy if things were too far gone. Brian paused, then slowly shook his head. “You can piss with that thing on too, right?” That question got the desired reaction and seemed to throw Brian for a loop. John watched the confusion pass his face before he nodded his head, with a slight frown. Question three then. “Not calling the whole bet off?”

“No, John, I’m not, but that’s not the point, you don’t understand what I’m --”

John interrupted with a shake of his head. If Brian was okay, even if he was slightly uncomfortable, he felt better about ruining his evening. The denial would make it that much sweeter later when he finally did get to come. He pointed at the door. “I’ll keep it safe for a little while longer, then, if you don’t want to play by my rules. Good night, Brian, sleep well. Tell Roger hello.” 

Brian looked like he was about to protest, but after a moment, seemed to think better of it. His own ego was apparently unable to get far enough out of the way for him to beg for the key. The bassist had to stifle a full smile when he saw Brian adjust himself, and then turn on his heel and leave. The door shut behind him a little louder than was really required.

“Mr. Brian May, so passive aggressive,” John said to his empty hotel room before collapsing on the bed. He spread out for a moment, letting his muscles tense and relax on the cheap hotel duvet. Only after he felt his breathing start to even out did he carefully toe off his shoes, flicking them to the floor with two soft thumps. 

Brian had been so irrationally irritated. Okay, maybe that was too harsh of a word. He had really only wanted something from him, something relatively important. He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his fingernails across his scalp. If he was honest with himself, he wanted to give that key back, but only so he could take all the pent up sexual energy that it was caging and use it. He shifted on the bed, the day’s worth of frustration sitting heavy in his crotch, constrained by tight trousers. They had seemed like a good amount of tight the time he first put them on. Now they seemed unbearable, like at any point the blood would stop and he’d be actually legless. 

His fingers crept down his stomach, pausing for a moment at a noise in the hallway, and then continuing down when it passed. His fingers skimmed the cloth, brushing against the hard bulge and sending a skittering jolt through his nerve endings. He was shocked he was so hard. How could he be that turned on? He swallowed, closing his eyes and willing his muscles to just relax as darkness swam in front of him. Was Brian this hard? The question came unbidden to his mind. He wondered how much the cage constricted him. Was it enough to constantly remind him of its presence? Or did Brian shift sometimes and get harder at the reminder of the power Roger had over him?

His fingers clumsily reached for his fly. He kept his eyes shut tight, picturing someone else’s calloused fingers gently pulling open the zipper. He didn’t picture Brian at first, at least not his face, but it was clear to him in the flashes he saw that his brain blamed Brian for this painful erection, so only he could fix it. He exhaled, seeing Brian’s arm move, the way the long, dexterous fingers smoothed down his thigh. John slipped his trousers and pants down his hips, sighing with some relief as he released his hard on from the fabric.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft, replaced in his fantasy by a wider hand with longer fingers. The rings scratched the skin and he stifled a moan that bubbled up, drawing the dry hand slowly up the sensitive skin one more time before he pulled it away and spat in it. He knew it was a poor excuse for lube, but it would do for now. He let his hand slowly pump his cock, achingly slowly if he was honest, while his mind visualised the tall guitarist on his knees in front of him, his own hands slowly driving him mad. He could picture the chastity cage hanging heavily on Brian’s genitals, restricting them and distorting their natural shape. 

He twisted his hand, gathering pre-come from the head and smoothing it down the soft skin. He was already getting close. He pulled his hand away as the sensation became too intense. His cock throbbed in disappointment and he let out a growl at himself. He couldn’t come yet, not so soon after he had started. He sighed and adjusted himself on the bed, the image of Brian on his knees, looking up expectantly, reappearing behind his closed eyelids. 

The Brian in his fantasy wrapped his hand around just the head, and he hissed at the sensitivity even as he gently rocked his hand around it. Even the strain of oversensitive flesh felt so good when he pictured Brian, totally at his whim, causing that sensitivity. 

“Fuck,” he growled. The beginnings of orgasm were starting to bubble inside him again, picking up almost where he left off before, dangerously close to the edge. The Brian of his mind didn’t speak, but he was pleading with his eyes, desperate and wanting for his own release, and ultimately for John’s attention. He stroked and twisted his hand on his erection, stopping only to spit in his hand again, and speeding up as he came closer and closer to climax. He moaned, whispering a sweet litany of what he wanted to do to the fantasy, how much he wanted to come. His heart was pounding in his throat, his breathing fast and ragged as he thought of coming on Brian (a thought that surprised him for a moment in its sudden and demanding ferocity) rose unbidden in his mind. Coming on the guitarist, marking and degrading him. But he wouldn’t stop there. He would leave him caged up and begging for release, pleading for a bit more of his attention. John knew he had a mildly sadistic side, but this was intense even for him. 

It was then that he felt the guilt. 

The emotion came on just as strong and unexpectedly as his erection had, and even as he walked on the knife edge of orgasm, he realized he wouldn’t let himself come. He couldn’t use Brian’s misery to get off. If Brian was in the room with him, that would be a different story; there would be something consensual about it. But he couldn’t just imagine using him and throwing him away like a tissue. 

The very thought of using him, however, turned out to be enough to tip him. Even as he tumbled over the edge, too far gone to stop his climax, he stopped stroking himself. The self-punishment made his dick throb and leak, the orgasm ruined by his own hand. It was as though nothing had happened other than the dribbles of semen now running over his skin. He choked out a slew of profanity in frustration, his eyes watering as his breathing, ragged and desperate, started to slow. 

He wanted to scream from frustration, but instead settled for balling his fists into the sheets beneath him. As though to further add to his blue balls, suddenly he heard it. Even in bed, far away from the shared wall, the unmistakable sound of Roger’s moaning reached his ears. Like a kick when he was down, this was the last thing he wanted to hear. These were long, drawn out moans that the bassist knew weren’t from active sex; Brian was probably blowing him. 

John hastily wiped off the evidence of his ruined orgasm with his shirt and then chucked it across the room. Feeling a little better, he turned away from the wall, put a pillow over his head, and hoped it suffocated him during the night.


End file.
